20

FOR TWO WHOLE DAYS, THE ABOUT-TO-CRY KNOT never completely goes away. In fact, now it’s even larger and rock solid, like one of Grampa’s shooter marbles. It’s there when I go to sleep and back first thing in the morning. By Friday, I’m almost used it, like that achy hard feeling is now a part of me.

I haven’t said anything about the real estate cards. I don’t know where to start. And I can’t believe I thought that just because Mom included some old dessert bowls in her table that she’d actually listen to me. If she’s talked to real estate agents, then she’s already made up her mind about selling Grampa’s house. And that means Grampa must have agreed to it. I’ve sorted through the details and the maybes over and over, and the thing that upsets me most is they made these decisions without talking to me at all.

Since there isn’t school, I stay in bed late. The smell of mom’s coffee wafts down the hall, followed by Mom. She knocks gently and comes in, even though I don’t answer. Her rollers are the size of tin cans; this is how she gets her “beach waves.” Looking at her causes the same feeling that I got when Ashley said only poor kids eat school lunch. Finally, I understand that it’s anger, but a deep, quiet kind that’s new to me.

“Hey, instead of spending the whole day watching TV, why don’t you swing by Pattie’s and have lunch with me?”

I want to say no. But I can’t think of an excuse. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Mom puts a hand on her hip.

“Yes. Sounds great. Can’t wait.” I roll over and face my window. The sky is overcast. No light shines through my Amberina basket.

“Okay.” I feel questions coming, but instead she says, “Well, I’m running late. So, I’ll see you around noon?”

“Bye.” I don’t roll back to face her, and I don’t get up until I hear the front door close. When I’m pouring my bowl of cereal, my phone buzzes. Another text from Jasper. Costume Clue #2 is a picture of black high tops and a hoodie. Even though I don’t feel like responding, I do. So, you’re going as you?

He texts right back. My mom says be yourself and you can’t go wrong.

I send a smiley face emoji even though I feel like the poop one and turn on the TV. Hours go by and my phone buzzes again. This time it’s Mom. Where are you?

I’m still in my pajamas and haven’t brushed my teeth, but I text back, On my way.

Pattie’s Parties is one of my least favorite places. The candle-scented air, the silk flowers, and most of all, Pattie Pringle. Pattie’s floated the possibility of making Mom a partner in the company for years, but so far, all she’s done is dangle different opportunities in front of Mom that never seem to happen. At least that’s what Grampa says.

As soon as I walk in, Pattie’s lips curl up in a forced smile. She scans me head to toe, pausing at my boots for a bit and resting on my hair, before saying, “Your mom’s in the back, stocking new table linens. And most likely working more on her mock-up table for tomorrow.”

I nod. Pattie doesn’t like me to go in the storage room, ever since I broke a glass vase looking for a mark on the bottom. Turns out nothing in Pattie’s is marked by an artist because it’s all made by machines in a factory. I look around at all the table settings and cases full of silverware and glassware options. Not a single thing is one of a kind. And it’s on purpose!

The showroom has three tables: one set for a child’s party, one for a wedding, and another for a fortieth birthday. Mom is responsible for all three. She comes up with the concepts, lines up the vendors, places the orders, and makes sure everything is set up the day of the party. All the while, Pattie sits behind the register in front of three big binders. Those binders hold all the party options and pricing information. The only thing I can tell Pattie is responsible for is taking most of the money.

Mom’s in charge of meeting with clients on an appointment basis. Then she spends every weekend she doesn’t have a competition working weddings and parties. This very much interferes with her dream of becoming the National Tablescaping Champion. It seems to me Mom already does most of the work.

I sit at the wedding table. The chair is made to look like golden bamboo and has a panel of fabric tied around the back in a cascade as big as a bustle. One lifelike silk rose in the arrangement is slightly bent, as though someone pulled it forward for a sniff.

“Hey, it’s almost one o’clock,” Mom says as she emerges from the storage room. She squints from the doorway, walks over, and straightens the rose. That’s Mom. It’s like she can sense when something isn’t perfect.

“Sorry. I lost track of time.” I’m so tempted to pull the rose back out before we leave, but I resist.

“Well, I’ve just started something I need to finish up. You’ll have to wait a few more minutes.” She heads back to the storage room before I can answer.

Pattie just stares at me until Mom comes out again, this time with her purse.

“Ready?” she asks before turning to Pattie. “I got everything on the shelves. I think I might be done for the day if that’s all right.”

Pattie nods and smiles, showing too many teeth. Mom might not have much practice at spotting a fake, but I do, and everything about Pattie strikes me as forced and a little too perfect to be the real deal.

Maybe the only thing I really like about Mom’s job is where it’s located. Mom surprises me by heading toward the Icon. I pause just outside the door. We haven’t been since Grampa’s stroke. Before I can protest, Benny the owner comes out and gives Mom a hug and then turns to me. “I was so sorry to hear about your grampa’s stroke and I’m so happy to see you two back here. Anything you like.” He extends an open arm inside. “On the house today.”

We settle into a different booth, surrounded by pictures of Lady Gaga. I look over at a couple with a little boy sitting in the Princess Diana booth, our regular spot.

“Seems like you’re in the kind of mood that can only be made better by a blue plate special,” Mom says. I have two impossible things to say to her—I’ve been treasure hunting in secret, and she can’t sell Grampa’s house. Icon’s blue plate specials are a wonder, but they aren’t going to solve this.

Mom takes a deep breath and says, “I can’t believe I have a dozen centerpieces to deliver to Whispering Pines tonight and the Expo is tomorrow! And you’ve got a big night too with the Fall Festival. You excited?”

Not even a little.

I nod. I’m so mad at her it’s like the anger is filling up every inch of me, but that visit to Pattie’s made me think about how hard she works and how little she complains. It’s confusing.

After we eat, we walk past a furniture consignment place that Grampa and I have been to a few times. I look through the plate-glass window and there are the four teak midcentury-modern dining chairs we dropped off in July. Grampa had called them fan-tast-teak.

Mom stops at a store called La Di Da. “What do you say we get something new to wear for tomorrow, like good-luck outfits?” Mom asks.

A good-luck outfit is one being worn when something lucky happens, so by definition, it’s not new. But I don’t say that. I nod and end up getting talked into a ridiculous orange sweater covered in thick, soft fuzz. The saleslady calls it an eyelash sweater, which taken literally is really disgusting.

Mom is trying on another skirt when she checks her watch and says, “Doesn’t the Fall Festival start at five?”

“Yeah, but I can be late.” I look down at my Doc Martens. Mom insisted I get the patent leather this year. She said the glossiness made them look like something more than men’s work boots. I hate to admit it, but I do like the shine.

“What do you mean? I thought you were going with Ashley. Isn’t she just walking over?” Mom asks. “It’d be great to get a picture of you two together like we always do.”

I shrug. “She’s at her dad’s this weekend, so he’s dropping her off at the gym. Maybe he can take one when we get there?”

Mom nods. “I can drop you off on my way. I have to get to Whispering Pines early to set up. There’s dancing and snacks after and family members can come in costume. Your grampa’s really excited. He said Toni is doing his face up like a zombie.” Mom says Toni’s name all goofy and wiggles her shoulders. “I’ll text Jerry and see if they can give you a ride there after the festival.” Jerry is Ashley’s dad. Maybe Ashley will ask me to stay the night, and we’ll make a blanket and pillow fort on their living room floor and watch movies until we fall asleep. All the things we used to do before Farrah.

“Is there something going on with Grampa and Toni?” I ask, already knowing I won’t get to stay at Ashley’s even if she asked. I’ll be up bright and early tomorrow morning, wearing this orange sweater, helping Mom pack the car, and then driving to Tulsa for the competition.

“Well, it’s early days, but I think your grampa may have made himself a lady friend.” Mom waggles her eyebrows up and down then turns her attention back to the full-length mirror. “If I win, Pattie is going to give me control of all the wedding arrangements, linens, table settings, chairs—all of it. She’s looking to hand off the business soon, and her son sure isn’t interested.”

Sitting there holding the new sweater I don’t want, the news of Grampa having a girlfriend starts mixing with all my other problems, and I feel like jumping up and running down Main Street screaming, all the way to Grampa’s house. Maybe his garden might make me feel better. Then I remember that it won’t be Grampa’s for long.

Mom spins, letting the skirt flare out around her. “What do you think? Is this the one?”

“It looks exactly like the three before,” I mumble.

“What?” Mom asks.

“It’s perfect,” I say. It’s easier to tell her what she wants to hear than to say all the stuff building up inside me.

Mom changes and pays, and we walk back to Pattie’s. I load my bike into the trunk. It won’t close all the way, so we take the back roads home.

As soon as we’re in the apartment, Mom grabs the pinafore she’s been working on for one last inspection. “Come. Put it on. I still need to trim off a few stray threads.”

A pinafore is really just a fancy apron. But Mom’s made mine to look just like the one Diana Barry wore in the miniseries. It’s pale blue with little flowers. She’s also decorated a straw hat with daisies, a matching blue ribbon, and two fake braids. It’s so perfect that I feel like we might step out into Avonlea when Mom opens the apartment door. But it’s just our parking lot.

I help mom load her supplies for the Halloween tables at Whispering Pines. When I go back in for the last box, I glance over to my backpack. I’ve not been without my spider pin since Grampa and I found it. But I can’t really carry my backpack to the party, and it doesn’t quite fit with my Diana Barry outfit, so I leave it.

Once we’re in the car, she looks down at my boots. “Those are the shoes you’re wearing?”

I nod and change the subject. “So, they’re just friends? Grampa and Toni.”

Mom shrugs. “He wants us all to have dinner together sometime. Seems like more than friends to me.” Mom looks at me, motions me over, adjusts my hat, and says, “There. You look perfect, if I do say so myself. Ready to go?”

On the ride to school, my costume doesn’t feel so magical anymore. I stare at my shiny Docs, the one thing I’m wearing that still feels like me, until we pull to a stop.